The Demon of Mysore
by NoCleverSig
Summary: Helen encounters a violent abnormal and finds love after Druitt on her first trip to India.
1. Chapter 1: The Demon Reborn

**Author's Note: It's finally COMPLETE! Thanks for those who stuck with me. As a reminder, this is an historical fiction set in ca. 1896 British India. Most of the people and places are real, although I messed a bit with their lives. :) I LOVE feedback! Feedback, good or constructive, turns me on. There, I said it. ;) Thanks all. And Peace. NCS (PS: Please note part of chapter 4 is MA. You have been warned...)**

**The Demon of Mysore**

**Chapter 1**

The Palace of Mysore had 78 rooms, 438 pieces of ancient Hindu art, 39 European tapestries, 28 murals gilded in gold, and an 11-year-old boy who was one of the wealthiest "men" in the world.

"Amazing," Helen Magnus said, looking around her, blue eyes wide.

"Isn't it?" replied Sir Stuart Fraser. Fraser was a member of the British government in India attached to the Stately Principality of Mysore, one of only a handful of Indian states that bore some semblance of independence from the British Empire.

"This is your first time in India, Dr. Magnus?" Fraser inquired.

"It is," she said, stopping in the hall to admire a stone carving of what looked to be a Hindu god. "My father visited several times and spoke most enthusiastically about it. I think I understand why now."

Fraser smiled, his aristocratic good looks and statesmanlike charm quite evident. "Indeed. Even after all my time here…Hyderbaad, Kohlapur, Bhavnagar, and now Mysore, it never tires me. This country, this culture, it is singularly unique in the world. Wouldn't you agree James?"

"Oh, absolutely," said Watson. He'd stopped next to Helen to examine the ancient sculpture. "Tell me, Stuart, this statute of Vishnu. Is it 1,800 or 1,900 years old?"

"Roughly 2,000, James. You must be off your game." Fraser teased. Fraser was one of Watson's oldest friends. The two had met at boarding school in Blundell and had maintained a friendship and correspondence ever since.

Watson smiled. "Still recuperating from the travel old boy, give me time."

Helen laughed. "Yes, Sir Fraser, give James another hour or so and he'll tell you not only the date the statue was carved but the day of the week and its maker." Helen smiled teasingly at Watson.

"Well, perhaps not the day of the week. But I can certainly calculate it if needed." He winked.

"I'm sure you can, James, I'm sure you can. And please, Dr. Magnus. Call me Stuart."

"Thank you, Stuart. Likewise, please call me, Helen."

"Helen it is." Fraser smiled at her. Watson raised an eyebrow. Helen rolled her eyes. Watson had been needling her for some time now to "move on" as he'd phrased it in her personal relationships, specifically her relationships with men. And any time a member of the opposite sex so much as said two words to her, James eagerly encouraged a liaison. It was a running joke between them. And it might have been funny had it not been that six years ago John Druitt, Helen's fiancé and Watson's friend, had been revealed as Jack the Ripper. The scars for Helen ran deep. And despite her courage to capture and assist Abnormals throughout the world with her new "Sanctuary" in London, loving and trusting another man in any kind of intimate way was a fear she had yet to conquer.

"So, Stuart," Watson asked, ignoring Helen's exasperated look. "You wrote in your letter that you needed our help? Yet you were decisively vague on the specifics."

"Yes, James, I was. My apologies for that. It's just that, shall we say, 'court intrigues' are such that one must be most careful what is placed in writing."

James accepted Stuart's explanation with a nod. "We've been friends a long time, Stuart. When you asked Helen and I to come help with a 'situation' as you phrased it, well let's just say I know you well enough to know there must be gravity in the matter."

Stuart nodded. "There is, James, there is." Stuart stopped them in the hallway, looked around, and motioned for them to follow him. After passing through several doors and what looked to be servants' quarters, they emerged in a small alcove between the main building and the palace gardens.

Fraser took a hasty look around to make sure no one was near, motioned Helen and James to come closer, and began his explanation, his voice low.

"Ten months ago, a series of murders started happening outside the city. At first it appeared as though it were an animal attack of some kind, sad certainly, but not completely unheard of. Tiger attacks have been known to occur here from time to time, especially along the edges of the Chamundi Hills."

"Why was it presumed to be an animal attack? What did the bodies look like?" Magnus asked.

Fraser looked at Watson, unsure as to how much detail he should provide in the company of a lady.

Watson smiled. "It's fine, Stuart. Helen is a physician and has seen more than her fair share of gore."

Fraser nodded and turned to Magnus. "The victims had been torn apart, Helen. Quite literally. Claw marks and teeth marks were identified on the bodies and some…" He glanced at Watson again. "Some had been partially eaten."

Helen nodded, taking in the data. Her face was flush from the Indian heat and her blond curls moistened on her forehead and her neck from the humidity outside.

" Certainly sounds like an animal of some kind," Watson agreed.

"Indeed, but then the attacks began happening more often and closer to the city. In the past three months there have been five deaths, all within the city of Mysore itself and one," he paused, "One just outside the palace gates."

"Has anyone seen the animal? Located tracks?" Helen asked.

"Oh yes, there were tracks. Giant paws, very much like a tiger were found in several locations."

"Well, there's your logical explanation, Stuart. Maneaters are rare, but they have been known to occur," Watson suggested.

"True, James. And if that had been the only evidence, I would not have bothered to bring you all the way from London. However, not long after the second attack, rumors began among the villagers that the killer wasn't an animal at all but something else…Mahishasura himself reborn."

"Mahishasura?" Helen turned to Watson. "I've heard that name before. He's a Hindu god of some kind. A demon?"

Fraser nodded. "Generally, yes. According to Hindu belief, Mahishasura was originally king of Mysore. He had been gifted with invincibility from Brahma, god of creation, for his devotion to him. Neither gods nor humans could kill him. Mad with power, he and his army drove the gods from heaven and waged war on earth. Not knowing how else to defeat him, the gods created their own being to match his power, the goddess Chamundi, who finally defeated Mahishasura in battle and ended his reign of terror."

"So the villagers believe their former king, this demon, walks the earth again?" Helen asked.

"In a manner, yes. And given that the murders began when His Royal Highness the Maharaja Krishnarja IV began his rule, and I came here to tutor him and serve as British administrator, well," Fraser paused. "The timing is unfortunate to say the least."

"Unfortunate, and potentially politically deadly to the young Maharaja's power," Watson deduced.

Fraser nodded. "And to Britain's authority here as well as Her Majesty's interests."

"I think I understand now why you asked us to come," Helen said.

"Not just me. The Maharaja himself requested your presence. He's heard of your…exploits, shall we say. He's a remarkable young man. Quite brilliant, actually. He's looking forward to meeting you tonight at dinner."

Watson folded his arms, his brow creased in thought. Helen recognized the look. He'd noticed something. Something she'd missed.

"There's something you haven't told us, Stuart. There's a piece of the puzzle that's missing. What is it? If we're to help, we need to know everything."

They both turned to Fraser. He looked upset. Beads of sweat, not just from the heat, lined his forehead.

"There were two eyewitnesses to the attacks," he said slowly. "One was a local man, a jewelry maker. He heard a noise the night his neighbor was killed, a growling sound that woke him from his sleep. He said he went to his window and saw a tiger, a white tiger, enter his neighbor's home and kill him. But when he saw the animal come out," Fraser paused, obviously shaken. "He wasn't a tiger anymore."

"What did he mean? What did he see?" Helen asked

"A man. A man with tiger's eyes."

Helen and James looked at each other.

"And the second witness, what did he see?" Watson probed.

Fraser drew a deep, shaky breath. "A tiger as well, glowing white in the moonlight. But when he turned around…." Stuart stopped, unable to continue.

Magnus looked at Watson, puzzled. James looked back at his friend, and then laid a hand on Fraser's shoulder for comfort.

"What Stuart? What did _you_ see?" Watson asked gently, knowing from Fraser's manner that Stuart himself had witnessed the attack.

Stuart gulped, his eyes hollow with fear, then looked up at his friend. "I saw human eyes, James. Not a tiger's. Not an animal's. Human eyes. I swear upon the Holy Bible itself," he said, shaking.

Helen took Stuart's hand to steady him.

"Stuart, this demon, this Mahishasura, you said he was invincible, yes?" Helen said softly.

The question seemed to shake Fraser out of the terrifying memory. "Yes. Yes, that's the legend."

"Did he have any other ability? In folklore or religion, demons often have very distinctive gifts or powers beyond just physical strength."

Fraser thought for a moment, and then nodded his head. "Mahishasura's father was an Asura, a kind of god, but…" Stuart stopped, a sudden look of realization on his face.

"But his mother was a water buffalo," Watson finished, recalling his Hinduism. "He could change from human to animal at will."

James shot Helen a look, and she nodded.

"It appears the game is afoot, Watson." Helen said flatly.

James sighed. "I hate it when you say that."

She winked at him. "I know."


	2. Chapter 2: Raghavendra

**Title: The Demon of Mysore  
Chapter 2: Raghavendra  
Author: NoCleverSig****  
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Sanctuary or its characters and ma making no profit from my playtime with them.**

**Chapter 2: Raghavendra**

The dining hall of the great palace of Mysore was lined with red carpets and painted walls gilded with gold.

Helen Magnus sat in the middle of a very long, very Western looking, dining table. Sir Stuart Fraser seated on her right. James Watson seated to her left. Surrounding them were an eclectic mix of British administrators and their wives, most dressed in traditional Western clothing, and members of the Maharaja's court, clad in indigenous attire.

The Mysorean men wore turbans of various kinds. Each color and decoration, a distinction, Sir Fraser informed Helen, that denoted the status of the man who wore it. The younger Indian women dressed in long skirts with a half sari made of silk. Mysore was famous for its silk saris, and seeing them, Helen could understand why. The workmanship was exquisite and the colors vibrant and alive. Helen felt a tinge of jealousy thinking of her own, comparatively, drab English clothes.

But it was His Royal Highness Majaraja Krishnarya IV (Krishna) that commanded their attention. The young boy, only 11, sat at the head of the table in a chair made of gold, cushioned to provide him extra height so that he towered, just slightly, above his guests. His turban was red with gold lace and pearls, which draped down into a sash across his body. His tunic and pants were black and gold with intricate green designs. And for a child, he had a bearing and intelligence that seemed to transcend his years. He certainly looked the part of a boy king.

His mother and regent, Maharani Kempa Nanjammani Vani Vilasa Sannidhana sat on his right, clad in the finest of intricate silk saris. She too had a royal bearing, but unlike her son, there was heaviness in her eyes that James had noted and Helen could see as well. Her husband, Sri Chamarajendra Wadiyar, had died of diphtheria only two years before, leaving a void in the kingdom and their lives. She had stepped in to fill that void, and from what Fraser had told Helen and James, was serving as a wise and judicious ruler. She would serve as regent until the young Maharaja came of age at 18.

The Maharaja's younger brother, Kanteerava Narasimharaja Wadiyar (Kantee), and three sisters sat near him, but it was the man to Krishna's immediate left that caught Helen's eye.

Unlike the other Mysorean men, this gentleman's clothes were simple and unadorned. He wore a white turban with no pearls or lace. His tunic and trousers were also white, making for a striking contrast with his dark, sunkissed skin. His face was clean shaven. He was younger, in his twenties, perhaps a few years younger than Helen. But his eyes…his eyes were startling, Helen thought. They were brown, so brown they might have been black except for the mesmerizing specks of yellow and gold that glimmered in them under the shimmering light of the chandeliers.

"Helen?"

Watson startled her. She realized she had been staring. Bloody hell.

"See something you like?" James said teasingly.

She sighed. "Really James, you must stop."

He laughed. "I didn't mean to embarrass you, my dear. I purely noticed the young fellow as well. He stands out from the rest, doesn't he?"

"Quite," she said simply.

James looked at her. He leaned over the table so he could see Fraser. Helen leaned back so the two men could talk. "Stuart, who is the gentleman sitting beside the Maharaja?"

Fraser looked down the table. "That's Raghavendra Rao. His Highnesses' tutor. I was going to introduce the two of you to him after dinner tonight."

"I thought you were his tutor?" Helen asked.

"Oh, I am when it comes to matters of state, foreign affairs, administration, and British law. But for everything else, particularly art, history, music, languages, and Mysorean culture, Raghavendra is his guide. And an able one at that. He's a brilliant young man. Musician, poet. Educated at Cambridge, actually."

Helen glanced back at the Maharaja's tutor. As if on cue, Raghavendra looked across the table at her and smiled, his golden brown eyes sparkling. Helen felt a blush sweep across her face and quickly looked down at her plate hoping neither Stuart nor James had noticed. Stuart hadn't. James, of course, had.

Dinner completed, Sir Fraser had arranged for a private audience for Magnus and Watson with the Maharaja in his sitting room. Joining them were Krishna's mother, the Regent, his brother Kantee, his mother's trusted secretary, Vishwanath Pashara, and the boy's tutor, Raghavendra.

The simple sitting room was as opulent as the palace itself. The Maharaja sat on a high-backed, golden chair, his mother at his right side, Raghavendra at his left. His brother and secretary sat on cushions on the floor. Magnus, Watson, and Stuart stood. Sir Fraser introduced them.

"Your Highness," Fraser said, bowing, "It is my great distinction to present to you Dr. James Watson and Dr. Helen Magnus of London, England. They are the ones I told you of. The ones of the Sanctuary."

The boy scooted up to the edge of his seat, hands gripping the golden armrests of his chair. He leaned forward.

"Dr. Magnus, Dr. Watson," he nodded to them, addressing them in English in a crisp Indian/British accent. "Sir Fraser has told me of your studies and your gathering of amazing creatures, creatures not thought to exist in the reality of this world. Is this true? Do you do such things? Have such a place?" There was excitement in his voice.

Watson looked at Helen, and inclined his head toward the boy king. Apparently she was to take the lead.

Helen took a step forward. "Your highness," she said, bowing. "What Sir Fraser tells you is true. Dr. Watson and I do study and protect creatures that exist that are, how shall I say? Exceptionable and quite unlike what most humans have ever encountered before. 'Abnormals,' we've chosen to call them. And we have created a place for them to live so that they do not harm us and we do not harm them. We call it the Sanctuary."

Krishna smiled, nodding to his mother and his tutor.

"Excellent," he said. "I asked Sir Fraser to send for you because I believe the murders that plague my people are not from a demon as they think but a beast such as the ones Sir Fraser has described. Do you agree that this is possible?" the boy asked.

Stuart had been right, Helen thought. The young king was indeed intelligent. She nodded. "Yes, your majesty. Given what Sir Fraser has told us, if the eyewitness reports are true, then Dr. Watson and I believe it is possible that a rare creature of some kind may be responsible for the murders in your kingdom."

She noticed Raghavendra frown, and she wondered what she might have said to offend him.

"What will you need to locate this creature?" his mother, the Regent, asked her eyes wary.

"Your assistance, your highness," Watson interjected. "We need to be able to interview the eyewitnesses to these murders, investigate the areas where the attacks took place, and see if there is a pattern to the crimes that have occurred."

His mother leaned over and whispered into Krishna's ear.

"With such access and assistance, do you believe you will be able to catch and kill this creature?" the young Maharaja inquired.

Helen flinched. "Catch, not kill your highness."

Raghavendra leaned forward, and looked at her intently. Krishna frowned. Secretary Pashara stood up, agitated.

"The creature, whether it is beast or man, has killed a dozen of our people!" he said in a strong, south Indian accent. "It must be tracked and killed. If you cannot do that, then your services are useless to us!"

Helen ignored Pashara, took another step forward, and appealed directly to the boy king. "Your Majesty," she said, looking him squarely in the eye. "It is our belief that all creatures, even those that are unlike us, have a place in this world and must be sheltered, protected, studied for the lessons that they can teach us. In our experience, some creatures kill not because they are violent but because their habitat has been invaded, or they are unaware of the power that they have. And those that are violent, too violent to live amongst us; we can take away and protect. That is what our Sanctuary is for. For creatures that need shelter as well as creatures that we humans need shelter from. But the right to live, the right to exist, is something that is paramount to our beliefs."

This time Raghavendra leaned over and whispered into Krishna's ear. The boy nodded.

"That is a belief I can respect, Dr. Magnus. Allowing all to live is right. Brahma created all, and his creation is to be cherished. But the killing of my people must stop. If the creature cannot be captured and taken away from my kingdom to your Sanctuary, then it must be killed. This is my command."

Helen shot a glance at Fraser. Stuart nodded. Best to stop while you're ahead, she thought.

"Certainly, your highness. We pledge to do everything within our power to stop this creature, alive if we can, but with the understanding that the protection of your people and your kingdom is paramount."

The Maharaja nodded. "Then we are agreed. Tell me Dr. Magnus, Dr. Watson? Do you speak the language of Mysore?"

Watson stepped forward. "Helen and I both speak Hindi, your highness. I also know quite a bit of Urdu. But I understand the common language of your people is Kannada, which we do not speak." Watson said.

"It is, Dr. Watson. I will have my tutor, Raghavendra, accompany you on your travels here. Rah speaks many languages and knows many things of my kingdom," the boy said proudly, gesturing toward his tutor. Raghavendra looked at Krishna and smiled. There was an obvious affection between the two of them, Helen thought.

"We would be honored to have such an esteemed escort," Helen replied, looking over at Raghavenra, who stared back at her, his golden eyes shining.

"Then it is done. You begin your work tomorrow?"

"Yes, your highness, we will," Watson said.

"And you will report your progress to his majesty and to me?" his mother prompted.

"Of course, Maharani. Daily." Sir Fraser responded.

She nodded. Krishna stood up, and the others in the room followed suit. He nodded to Magnus and Watson and left, his family and advisor following. Raghavendra, however, lingered behind. He waited until the Maharaja and his entourage had exited the room then approached Magnus and Watson, arms clasped behind his back.

"Dr. Magnus, Dr. Watson, It is my pleasure to meet you both. I am Raghavendra Rao, tutor and scholar to his majesty, Maharaja Krishna," he said in perfect English. "Sir Fraser," he said, nodding to Stuart, "has told me much of your exploits."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Watson said, extending a hand. Raghavendra took James' hand and shook it. Magnus extended her hand as well, but this time, the young man, turned it over and kissed it, bowing, his golden brown eyes looking up at her. Helen felt a rush of warmth in her stomach and swallowed hard. It was a sensation she hadn't felt since…well, since John. And frankly, it frightened her.

"I have a question for you, Dr. Magnus, before we begin our journey together." Raghavendra said.

"Please, call me Helen," she replied, considering his odd turn of phrase.

"And I am Rah."

She nodded. "Rah, what did you want to ask me?"

"What you said tonight to Krishna, that it is your belief that all creatures, even those that are unlike us, have a place in this world and must be sheltered, protected, studied for the lessons that they can teach us," he quoted her verbatim. "Is that truly your belief?"

Was he testing her? Challenging her? She wasn't sure.

"Are you asking me if I lied to the Maharaja?"

He looked at her sincerely. "I am asking if that is what is in your heart of hearts."

She paused, considering the question. "It is," she said after a moment. "It truly is."

He smiled at her, a warm, almost sensuous smile. "Helen," he said, rolling the name slowly on his tongue. He took her hand once more and kissed it. "Then it is my greatest pleasure to accompany you. Shall we begin tomorrow? We can meet in the gardens for breakfast. We will use one of Krishna's coaches, and I will take you where you and Dr. Watson want to go."

"That would be most kind," Helen answered, a bit breathless.

"Then until tomorrow. 8 a.m.?"

"8 a.m." Helen agreed. Fraser and Watson nodded their goodnights.

Watson had watched the exchange between Rah and Helen in silence, but it had left him with a very persistent notion.

This was going to be an interesting holiday. An interesting holiday indeed.


	3. Chapter 3: The Tiger's Eyes

**CHAPTER NOTE: The poem recited within this chapter is an 11th Century poem written in Sanskrit by the poet Bilhana. In English it is translated to "Fifty Verses of a Love Thief." I pulled the translation from an Internet site which sourced it as "Bilhana: Black Marigolds translated by E. Powys Mathers (a free interpretation of the Chauraspanchasika), Houghton Mifflin Co., New York, 1919. An authorized text has recently been published in Britain: _Black Marigolds and Coloured Stars_, by E. Powys Mathers. Anvil Press, London, 2004; copyright © renewed 2004 Margaret Gibson and Lucy L. Painter for the Estate of E. Powys Mathers." Here's the site if you'd like to read more and the legend surrounding it: .**

Mr. Dasari was an elderly man with poor eyesight. Not the best of eyewitnesses, Helen Magnus mused.

She sat inside his modest home in the middle of Mysore drinking coffee, a local custom. Not Helen's cup of tea, but when in Rome….

Watson had decided their efforts were best divided. She would accompany Rah to interview Mr. Dasari, while James would remain with Sir Fraser to examine the site of the palace attack and see if Stuart could recollect more details or locate additional witnesses.

A small man with agile, jeweler's hands, Dasari was excited to have guests in is home, particularly guests from the royal palace. But he seemed more interested in entertaining than explaining what he saw the night the tiger/creature/man...whatever it was that was killing in Mysore attacked.

Raghavendra was translating their conversation. So far, Helen had discovered three things: The name of Dasari's deceased wife, the names and occupations of his six children, and the names and occupations of his 13 grandchildren. As kind as the old man was, they were getting nowhere, and Helen was getting hot. She sat at the table with Rah and Dasari fanning herself from the heat, her blonde hair dripping with sweat.

"Rah," Helen said, "I don't mean to be rude, but…what about the murder? Shouldn't you be discussing the night of the murder?"

"Helen," Rah smiled, laying a hand on hers, sending a shiver through her. "There is an order to these things. We will get there in time. It would be rude not to inquire about his family first." He smiled at her.

"Of course, my apologies" she said, and considered it an opportunity to practice her patience.

Forty minutes and several coffees later, Mr. Dasari told his tale and Rah translated.

"It was at the end of Dasara." Rah turned to her. "That is the festival that marks the conquering of the demon god Mahishasura by the Goddess Chamundi," he explained as an aside. Helen nodded.

"I was lying in my bed asleep, happy because of the festival," Rah translated, "I had been fortunate and sold much of my jewelry." Helen saw the old man's face light up at that. "I heard a noise outside my window, like music, a flute, and then a growling of a dog or a cat. I got up to see what it was. I looked through the window and saw a tiger, a white tiger, on the street. He walked by my house into the home of my neighbor, Rahman. I knew it must be a spirit, the demon Mahishasura reborn, angry because of Dasara. I closed my eyes, hoping that I was dreaming and that I would awake. Then I heard screams, horrible sounds, and I knew it was not a dream."

The old man started crying, and Rah put his hand on Mr. Dasari's shoulder. He went on. "I opened my eyes, afraid to look, but when I did, I saw a man walk out of Rahman's home. When I looked at him, he was a spirit, a demon ghost with tiger's eyes. I ran to my bed and closed my own eyes, hoping the tiger ghost would go away and that the demon had not seen me. I was frightened."

Magnus watched as Rah squeezed Dasari's shoulder and spoke softly to him, the old man nodded, wiping his tears. The instinctive nature of the gesture tugged at Helen's heart.

"Rah, can he tell us what the man looked like? Can he describe him?" she asked softly.

Rah turned to Dasari and spoke. The old man replied. "He was naked and tall like a man, but he was white like a demon," Rah translated.

A tall, naked man that looked like a demon. Given how short Mr. Dasari was, his description could account for nearly 99 percent of the male population of Mysore.

"Is there any way he can be more specific? Hair? Eyes? Scars?" Helen probed.

"He's very upset, Helen."

"I understand, Rah. I do. But aside from Sir Fraser, he's the only eyewitness we have to these crimes."

Rah nodded and tried again.

Dasari grew agitated. Rah turned to Magnus. "He says he has told us all he can. It was a spirit man, a white ghost with tiger's eyes." Rah shook his head. "I'm sorry, Helen. But he has made up his mind that what he saw is a demon, and getting him to describe it in any other terms may be impossible."

Helen nodded. "All right, I don't want to upset him any more than we already have. Can you thank him and give him this?" Helen handed Rah a small bag of coins.

Rah thanked Dasari and handed him the 10 silver rupees.

"Thank you," Magnus said in Dasari's native language of Kannada as they were leaving his home. "You have been most helpful."

Dasari bowed and smiled at her. Rah looked at Helen, surprised.

'You pick up languages quickly."

"I tend to have an ear for them."

"I am impressed. Again."

"Again?" She asked.

"At every turn you have impressed me, Helen Magnus," Rah said, his golden eyes locking with hers. Helen was the first to look away, slightly embarrassed. The moment left her flustered. Raghavendra Rao was an interesting man. An very interesting man indeed.

* * *

They spent the rest of the week in and around Mysore examining crime scenes, looking for witnesses, and finding absolutely nothing. Most of the attacks had taken place months ago, so tracks, if there had been any, were gone. And the bodies of the victims had already been disposed of since Hindus cremate their dead, a final act of purification to free the soul from its attachment to the body. Consequently, Magnus and Watson had no bodies, no evidence, only two witnesses, and little if anything to report to the Maharaja and his regent.

"Let's go over it again," Watson said, as they sat in their adjoining sitting room, sipping English tea before bed.

"Go over what, James?" Helen asked, exasperated. "All we have is a white tiger with human eyes and a human man with tiger eyes. I agree that something abnormal seems to be going on here, a were-creature of some kind perhaps, but aside from those facts we have little else to go on."

"And music," Watson reminded her. "Both Mr. Dasari and Stuart distinctly remembered hearing music just before the attacks."

"True, but neither one could tell us the melody."

"But they did agree on the instrument, a flute, a venu to be precise."

"Yes, a bamboo flute which is present everywhere in Southern India."

"Helen, you are being less than optimistic."

Magnus sighed. "I know, James. My apologies. I'm just tired. Frustrated and tired"

"What we really need is another murder." Watson said, starring at his notes and chewing on his pipe.

"Really, James. How horrid!"

He looked up at her. "Horrid, Helen, but true. At least then we would have evidence to examine."

She couldn't dispute his logic. Another murder would be…helpful, she had to admit.

"Well, should such occur, please wake me. Until then, I'm going to sleep and let my subconscious mind muse on the little we do have since my conscious mind seems to be doing neither of us any good tonight."

"Sweet dreams, my dear."

"Goodnight, James."

* * *

Helen couldn't sleep.

After two hours of laying awake achieving neither rest nor revelation, she rose from her bed, grabbed her shawl (more out of sense of decorum than necessity) and walked out onto her balcony.

The night was clear and warm. The moon shone brightly over the palace gardens and cast a sensuous shadow over the tree-covered hills beyond. She could smell the sweet scent of jasmine rising from the flowers below lazily drifting on the soft, Indian breeze. She closed her eyes and inhaled. The sound of a flute, quiet at first, rose up to greet her. She leaned forward to see where the melody was coming from, her long blonde curls falling over her eyes, and saw Rah, seated on a bench near a fountain. His turban was removed. His thick brown hair gently lifted with the breeze, his golden eyes closed as he concentrated on the song. It was a sad, heart- wrenching melody. Helen wasn't a woman easily prone to tears, but the song made her eyes glisten.

"Come down," she heard in a whispered shout. The music had stopped, and Rah was smiling up at her from the terrace below, motioning her to come down to the gardens.

There were a million reasons why she shouldn't, two of the most important being that Rah was a single, Indian man, and she was a single, British, woman. But Helen Magnus had never been one for convention.

Five minutes later she was in the garden seated next to Rah listening to him play a much happier tune. It was a venu he played. A bamboo, Indian flute. The same kind that had been heard before the attacks, Helen thought. But as she herself had told Watson, such flutes were ubiquitous in Southern India. It meant nothing. But she noted it none the less. She would mention it to James in the morning, she promised herself. But tonight, tonight she would simply enjoy.

"You play beautifully, Rah. Where did you learn?" she asked, when he finished another song.

"My father and his father. I come from a family of musicians."

"And poets, Sir Fraser said, though I've yet to hear you recite any," Helen teased him.

"I would have thought a doctor such as you would have little time for poetry," Rah teased back.

"You would think wrong," she told him.

" Hmm…" he said, considering. "All right, then." He set his flute down and looked at her, golden brown eyes shimmering in the moonlight and began reciting a poem.

_Even now_

_My thought is all of this gold-tinted king's daughter_

_With garlands tissue and golden buds,_

_Smoke tangles of her hair, and sleeping or waking_

_Feet trembling in love, full of pale languor;_

_My thought is clinging as to a lost learning_

_Slipped down out of the minds of men,_

_Laboring to bring her back into my soul._

_Even now_

_If my girl with lotus eyes came to me again_

_Weary with the dear weight of young love,_

_Again I would give her to these starved twins of arms_

_And from her mouth drink down the heavy wine,_

_As a reeling pirate bee in fluttered ease_

_Steals up the honey from the nenuphar._

_Even now_

_The stainless fair appearance of the moon_

_Rolls her gold beauty over an autumn sky_

_And the stiff anchorite forgets to pray;_

_How much the sooner I, if her wild mouth_

_Tasting of the taste of manna came to mine_

_And kept my soul at balance above a kiss._

Rah finished. The two sat in silence for a time, the warm night air moving around them like an unanswered question.

"Bilhana, _Verses of a Love Thief_," Helen finally said, her voice hoarse and low. She was finding it difficult to breath evenly. "If I recall correctly, that is a very old poem."

"It was written in Sanskrit nearly 1,000 years ago. Again, you impress me, Helen." Rah said softly, his golden eyes fixated on her blue ones. His hand moved to hold hers. She let him.

"And yet, curiously, the words are as stirring today as they were so long ago, don't you agree?" Helen asked, swallowing hard. Her eyes darted from his golden brown eyes to his lips and back again.

"I do," he said, and lifted his hand to stroke her cheek. Helen closed her eyes and shivered.

"The story of the love thief, does it end happily?" she asked him, eyes closed, whispering, her heart racing now.

He moved closer to her. Their thighs were touching through the thin cotton of his trousers, her gown.

"It depends upon the poet who tells it," he answered, his voice an answering whisper. "I have always thought that with such words he must have found his love. Wouldn't you agree?" His eyes scanned her face. He moved one hand to her waist, the other to her hair. His lips hovered over hers.

Helen opened her eyes and nodded. "Yes, yes I would."

They leaned into each other, their lips meeting for the first time. It started gently, new and curious. But Helen raised her hands to Rah's face and deepened the kiss. He tasted of Indian coffee and warm summers. The air was full of sweet Jasmine perfume, and Helen let herself become lost in it.

After a time they broke apart, silent and breathless. Rah reached out for Helen's hands and held them tightly.

"Helen," he said softly, their foreheads touching. "There's something I would like to show you. To tell you about my family and myself," he said, lightly trailing a finger across her cheek. "Would you come with me tomorrow to the Temple of Chamundi?"

She laid a hand to his face. He was so warm, so vibrant. "Of course," she answered him, smiling.

She could feel the heat rising inside her. Rah moved to begin the kiss again when suddenly a scream erupted from across the palace lawn.

Helen shot up, looking across the garden. "Rah?"

"I heard it. But where?"

As if in response, the scream repeated, this time in concert with a roar. Rah ran toward the sound. "Rah, no!" Helen yelled, but he was already gone.

She lifted her gown and ran as fast as she could to her room to grab her pistol. She could hear shouting in the palace, guards running across the tiled halls. A shot was fired. She burst into her room, grabbed her gun from the drawer, and moved cautiously to the window. Holding the weapon in front of her, she stepped outside the balcony and scanned the gardens. Across the lawn she saw a figure running. A naked man running toward the woods. She aimed to fire when he turned toward her, his golden tiger eyes gleaming in the moonlight. She pulled up and fired the shot into the air.

The sky was clear. The moon shone brightly over the palace gardens. There was no chance of a mistake.

It was Rah.


	4. Chapter 4: The Temple of Chamundi

**Chapter 4: AUTHOR's NOTE: Warning! Mature Audiences only ahead! Straight up sex about to be had. You have been warned. :)**

"It's a shame we can't do an autopsy." Watson said, frowning. The Hindu faith discouraged autopsies believing such actions to the body were disturbing to the soul. James stood at the foot of the table in the palace infirmary watching Helen exam the deceased Indian guard who had died only an hour before.

Magnus stopped what she was doing and looked up at her colleague and friend. He had one arm crossed against his chest, the other resting upon his wrist, busily chewing on his ever present pipe. "An autopsy? Whatever for?" she asked, ceasing her examination. "It's quite evident the man died of massive blood loss and trauma," she said, gesturing to the missing half of the guard's throat.

He shrugged. "I know, but I find them…interesting. Don't you?" He smiled.

Helen shook her head and went back to her inspection. After a moment she nodded. "Yes, I suppose I do," she admitted reluctantly. "Still, you got your wish, James, at this poor man's expense. We now have our evidence."

Watson walked over and looked down at the bitten and torn body of the young guard. "And what does the evidence tell us, Helen?"

She thought of Rah and everything that had happened earlier that night. The music. The poem. The kiss. The sound of screaming. And the image of Rah running naked toward the forest, his golden eyes reflecting in the moonlight.

"Helen?" Watson asked again.

She looked up. "Sorry, I'm tired." It wasn't a lie. It was three in the morning, and she hadn't slept a wink. But there was more to it, of course. More than she was ready to share at the moment. Not until she had a chance to sort it out herself. And right now, she needed to concentrate on the matter at hand.

"Based upon the size and shape of the bite marks, the spacing of the canines, and the claw marks particularly there and there," she pointed out to Watson. "Definitely a tiger."

"You're certain?"

She nodded. "I am. James, do you think it's possible that this is simply a tiger and not an abnormal?" she asked. "Perhaps the recollections of Mr. Dasari and Sir Fraser are embellishments? Not intentional, of course, but brought about by the trauma of the attacks?" She knew she was reaching.

Watson shook his head. "Possible, but not probable. Aside from the statements from our two eyewitnesses, the attacks are too…systematic."

"How so?"

"Well," he said, pacing the room. "They started in the foothills and moved gradually to the center of the city. Then, most recently, an attack occurred near the palace. And tonight an attack occurred against a palace guard. It's as though they are leading up to something."

"I agree," Helen said grudgingly. "But to what?"

"That is yet a mystery. However," James said, brightening, "I have two eyewitnesses who saw the white tiger, and I plan to interview them in the morning as well as examine in detail the location of the attack. The Regent has secured the area so that the crime scene would remain undisturbed."

She nodded.

"Helen, by chance did you see or hear anything tonight? I was still in the sitting room reviewing my notes. But you're bedroom is right above the gardens and the south lawn."

Helen froze, unnerved by James' question. Lying was not something she liked to do, particularly to friends. Particularly when the friend in question was a master at ferreting out deception.

"No, I didn't."

"Hmmm…." James replied, saying nothing.

The door burst open and Vishwanath Pashara, the Regent's secretary, stormed in. He was a large, pudgy man with deep set eyes and a heavy, curled black mustache. In the handful of times Helen had met him she had disliked him, his attitude arrogant and angry.

"His Highness and Her Highness demand to know the results of your examination. They also demand that you release the body so that he may be prepared for cremation," he said, his voice loud.

Helen undid her gloves and coat and set them on a nearby table. She wanted to rail at the man, but knew it would only add fuel to his flame. Given what she'd seen of the Maharaja Krishna and his mother, she doubted that they had demanded anything except an update on recent events.

"The examination is complete, so you may release the guard's body to his relatives. And my conclusion is that it was indeed a tiger attack."

"Of course! Why you needed to defile his body is beyond me," he continued, angrily.

Watson stepped in front of Helen. It was a gentlemanly maneuver and quintessentially James, Helen thought affectionately. "Dr. Magnus did not 'defile' the young man's body but merely examined it. Per your faith, no autopsy was performed nor a hair on his body 'defiled.'" James replied equally angry.

"Humph," Parasha mumbled, and bent down to look at the body to test Watson's story.

It was then Watson noticed it. A mark, a small tattoo, on the top of Pashara's back, only made visible by the large man's bent frame. It was a head of an animal with a word written on it. He couldn't quite make it out, yet it seemed familiar.

Pashara stood up and looked at Watson, dismissing Helen with his lack of attention. "I will report to His Highness and Her Highness that you are done," and he turned and left as angrily as he had come in.

"I can't stand that man," Helen said, gathering her things.

James stood quietly, chewing his pipe, looking down at the floor, distracted.

"James? Is everything all right?"

Watson looked up at Magnus and smiled. "Yes, yes, quite. Let's meet in the morning after breakfast and examine the site of the attack. We'll also question the two men who saw the tiger."

Helen had promised Rah that she would go with him tomorrow to the Temple of Chamundi. He wanted to show her something, to tell her about himself, his family. After what she'd seen tonight; however, she wasn't sure she wanted to keep that promise. It was Rah running across the lawn. That was certain. And his eyes had shone golden like a tiger, reflecting the glowing moonlight. His eyes hadn't been human at all.

"Helen? You're drifting again, my dear. I think perhaps it's time for sleep." James said gently, touching her elbow.

"Yes. Yes, of course." She decided. She'd feign illness in the morning and go with Rah. She had to find out what he was and what his involvement in this could be. There had to be a rational explanation. Rah wasn't a killer. She'd known one before. Intimately.

She'd lied to James at least twice tonight, and her stomach turned because of it. She hoped, after tomorrow, it would prove worth it.

* * *

The morning broke with dark clouds, like Helen's mood. She sat on the garden patio drinking tea and eating dosa with coconut chutney thinking about John, Raghavendra, and herself. Was she doomed to love, care for only those who inflicted pain on others? Was it some bizarre, psychological condition she possessed that attracted her only to men that killed? She wondered.

"I didn't think you would come," Raghavendra said, walking up quietly behind her from the garden below.

She answered him without turning. "I didn't think I would either, but here I am."

He came around to face her. He was dressed in his simple white tunic, trousers, and turban, as handsome today as he had been the first evening she saw him. He stood in front of her small table, hands nervously kneading the top of an empty chair.

"I know you saw me last night, Helen. I imagine you are confused."

"That's one word for it," she said defensively, refusing to look him in the eye, the same eyes that had so engaged her before. "Angry, betrayed. Those are others."

Rah pulled out the chair and sat across from her, careful not to get too close. "Please, Helen, do not be. I am not a part of what is happening here, you must believe me. But I am…different," he said. "Based upon what you told the Maharaja the night that we met, I had hoped that you of all people might understand and accept those differences."

Helen sighed. "Using my own words against me. Not fair."

"Very fair. Please Helen, come with me to the Temple today. I will explain everything there. I would never harm you."

She looked up at him. She had heard those words before. _"I would never harm you." _The very same words from John Druitt. Damn him. Damn them all.

Rightly or wrongly (Wrongly, she knew), Helen judged every man by her experience with John. She was traumatized, even crippled by it. She knew it. Admitted it. It tainted every relationship she considered, which is why, up until now, she hadn't considered any. James had called her a 'prisoner,' and it was true. What made it unbearable; however, was that part of her still loved Druitt even knowing who and what he was. Her acknowledgement of that frightening fact left her feeling…unclean.

She looked at Rah. His golden brown eyes glistened. His skin was dark and smooth. His expression anxious and scared. She remembered the kiss they'd shared. She was attracted to Rah. Strongly attracted to him. But more than that, she could care for him. It wasn't fair to judge him, compare him to John. But it was hard, so incredibly hard, to trust again.

"Helen, please," Rah said softly, sadness in his voice.

The tears in his eyes, the tone of his voice, the sincerity in his words, it compounded to undo her. After a moment, she nodded her head, unable to speak, and took her first shaky step to becoming whole.

* * *

The Temple of Chamundi stood more than 1,000 steps atop the Chamundi Hills 13 kilometers outside the city of Mysore. Rah drove Helen to the area by coach, and the two spent the next 30 minutes climbing the mountain in silence. By the time they reached the temple, it was early afternoon. The sky had become thick with clouds and the smell of rain was heavy in the air.

The temple itself was impressive. The front, the gopura, stood seven stories tall and was bathed in intricate carvings. The thick temple doors were formed from silver, and inside the deity Chamundi stood on a pedestal made of pure gold cloaked in a garland of golden skulls. On the floor surrounding her was a thick, woolen rug with images of the goddess's creations and conquests.

"It's beautiful, Rah," Helen said, staring at it. It was the first words she'd spoken to him since their conversation that morning. They were alone inside the temple. The dreary day, the threat of heavy rain, had driven off other visitors.

"She is," he agreed, walking round the statute. "She is also known as Durga, mighty in her power. When the demon Mahishasura faced her, he laughed at her wondering how a woman could defeat him. But Chamundi laughed back and the earth trembled. The demon changed into a bull, a lion, an elephant. But each time she slayed him."

Rah came back around and stood beside Helen, gazing up at the goddesses' face.

"Why did you bring me here, Rah?" she asked softly, turning toward him. The rain began to fall outside.

Rah took a deep breath, staring up at the deity. "So I could confess to you who I really am in front of my goddess, the slayer of demons, and let you decide for yourself if what you see is a demon or a man." He turned and looked at Helen, his face raw with emotion. He took off his turban and set it on the ground. Then, slowly, he pulled his tunic over his head, his lithe body rippling with muscles.

"Rah, what are you doing?" Helen asked, confused.

He moved to untie his trousers.

"Rah?" Helen, said, frightened now of his intent.

"I would never hurt you, Helen. I only want to show you who I truly am. I need you to understand this, to trust me." He undid his pants and let them fall to the floor. He stood naked in front of her, his body taught and bronzed by the Indian sun. Helen swallowed, frightened and aroused at the same time, unsure of what Rah was doing or why.

Rah closed his eyes and, suddenly, his body shimmered. Ripples of golden water appeared before Magnus. When it stopped, a deer stood before her. After a moment the shimmering began again and a peacock emerged. It happened a third time and out of the pool of shimmering gold arose a tiger, orange and brown. Helen stepped back out of reflex, and the shimmering started once more. This time Rah reemerged. His golden brown eyes, the same golden brown eyes each animal had shared, stared back at her.

"My God…You're a shape shifter."

"Yes," Rah answered. "In Sanskrit my ancestors were called 'parinama,' _transformation_. It is who we have been for generations."

Helen's heart was racing, amazed at what she'd just witnessed.

"The white tiger, the demon of Mysore, is it…" she began, fearfully.

"No. Neither I nor my family has killed anyone, Helen, you must believe me. I do not know who or what it is plaguing Krishna's kingdom but it is not parinama."

"How do you know? How can you be sure?" she asked.

"Last night when I left you, I transformed into an eagle so that I could fly quickly and stop the attack. But I was too late. The guard was dead. The tiger gone. But the killer's scent hung in the air. It smelled of tiger, yes, but something else. Something I have never known before."

Helen looked at him, naked, standing there in front of her, revealing himself so completely to her. She closed her eyes and swallowed. She could sense him approach her, so near she could feel the heat of his body and the warmth of his breath beside her. He reached for her hand, and she opened her eyes.

"Please, Helen," he begged again, taking his other hand and stroking her cheek in light, feathery touches. "Trust me."

It was such a simple request. So eloquent, it made her heart ache.

"I want to, Rah. But I don't know how," she admitted, revealing herself to him as well.

He trailed a finger down her cheek. "Then let me show you," he said. He let go of her hand. The shimmering began again. A pool of golden liquid ripples in the darkness of the shrine. A butterfly, small and yellow, perfect in its symmetry, emerged. It hovered up and down and above Helen urging her to do…something.

"I don't know what you want me to do." She said to it, frustrated.

The insect fluttered down to her hand and touched it. Suddenly, she understood. She raised her hands, palms up, and held them together like a cup. The butterfly floated up and landed in her hands. Sitting there, wings beating slowly up and down, its golden eyes looking up at her. She wanted to cry. She understood now what Rah was showing her. Complete and utter trust in another. His life, literally, held in her hands. She nodded to the creature, tears welling up in her eyes. It left her hands and flew in front of her, shimmering again, and Rah appeared once more. He moved toward Helen, and this time, she didn't back away.

The rain burst from the sky, pouring down cleansing water over the temple, beating on the roof like a mridangam drum.

They stood facing each other, equal in height. Helen placed her hands on Rah's shoulders. She leaned in to kiss him, his lips, soft and gentle. Rah deepened the kiss and lifted his hands to her hair unbinding it. Helen's blond curls spilled over her neck, her back. He moved closer, fumbling with the buttons of her blouse. She laughed at him. "Let me," she said. He smiled. "You English and your clothes. You make everything so complicated." He moved his hands with hers to help. The need to be naked and have him inside her was overwhelming her. Her blouse fell free, then her skirt, her stockings, her undergarments, and soon she was standing in front of him, defenseless.

"You are so beautiful," he said, his eyes caressing her. "Come, sit with me, Helen," he said, pulling her gently down with him.

They sat on the woolen rug, facing each other, legs and arms wrapped around one another. Helen's heart pounded against Rah's chest. She wanted this. She wanted him. He kissed her again, this time his tongue dueling with hers, deeper and more passionate. He bent down and kissed her breasts, suckling each nipple, back and forth, the sensations flooding over her, washing over her like rain. She kissed his neck, his chest, his nipples, his shoulders in reply. He moved his hand to her center and plunged her. She gasped. He suckled and stroked her until she came crashing around him, crying his name. He stopped her with a kiss, then lifted her up and eased her onto his lap, bringing her down atop him slowly. Helen gasped once more as he entered her, filling her completely. He started the rhythm, but she soon took over, their arms wrapped around each other's backs, their heads upon one another's shoulder, not knowing where one began and the other ended. His dark skin, her light skin, intermingled. She moved faster now, feeling the tide rising inside her. She could hear Rah struggling for breath, feel the warm air on her neck as he breathed against her, kissed her. Finally she came crashing down and he with her. He cried out something in Sanskrit. She rested her head on his shoulder, tears rolling down her eyes.

They stayed that way for a long time, the rain pounding, their hearts pounding, until they had the strength to come together once more.

***

* * *

By the time Helen returned to the palace, wet and disheveled, it was late afternoon. The rains had receded, and she hurried to her room to change, put up her hair, and dress for dinner. She opened the door to her quarters to find James sitting there, pipe in hand, reading.

"How are you feeling my dear?" he asked, not looking up from his book.

Helen froze. She had no more stomach for lies.

"I'm fine James," she said quietly. "I lied to you, and I'm deeply sorry."

He turned to look at her and quickly took in her tousled appearance but said nothing.

"I simply came by to check on you and to report my findings. But I take it you have been… otherwise engaged," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"I was with Rah this afternoon," she said bluntly. No more lies.

"As in the Biblical sense?"

"James!" she nearly shouted. "Sometimes your lack of decorum can be most disconcerting."

"I'm not the one with my hair unbound, my clothes wet, and my cheeks aglow. Although I must admit it is most becoming on you, Helen." He teased, tugging on his pipe.

"Really, James…" She ignored him, and went over to her wardrobe opening it.

Watson followed her and kissed her on the cheek. "It's been a long time since I've seen you look this…free, Helen. I'm happy for you."

She smiled up at him. She really did love him dearly.

"Thank you, James. So," she said, changing the subject as quickly as she could. "What did you find out today?"

Watson paced the room as she pulled out various gowns, considering them. "Tiger tracks. All around the crime scene. But they disappeared after about 20 feet. Simply vanished. You were right with your analysis last night, Helen. Most definitely a tiger attack, at least at some point." he said, gesturing at her with his pipe.

"Of course," she replied, eyeing a light blue dress, one she knew complemented her eyes.

"And so humble." Watson added.

She smiled at him. "Anything else? What about the witnesses? What did they see?"

"A white tiger. No surprise there. Other than that, they were quite useless."

"In shock I should imagine," she replied. She moved behind the dressing curtain and began to change her clothes. As expected, James turned his back to her but kept talking.

"I also looked into that mark I saw on that vile man Pashara's upper back last night."

"What mark?" Helen asked, the rustle of clothes muffling her voice.

"Did I not tell you? Last night in the infirmary as Pashara bent over the young man's body to make sure you had not defiled it (he heard Helen "humph" at that), I saw a strange tattoo on his upper back. It looked like an animal of some kind with a word or letter above it in Hindi. It might have even been a tiger. It looked as such."

"Really," Helen said, coming out from around the dressing curtain now. She sat down at her vanity to redo her hair. "That's an odd coincidence, don't you think? A tiger tattoo?" she asked.

"Perhaps. I tried to find out more about it today, discreetly of course. But so far, I've come up with nothing. Perhaps your friend Rah can help?"

She looked at James in the mirror. If they were going to solve these murders, she needed to be truthful with him. Completely.

She put down her hair pin, stood up, and went over to him. "James, about Rah, there's something you need to know."

Watson looked at her, concerned.

She paused, wondering how to say it, knowing what he would immediately conclude. "He's a shifter, James. A shape shifter. He revealed it to me today."

Watson stared at her. "I knew it!" He said with a shout. "His eyes. He has those bloody, strange, golden eyes. I knew there was something abnormal about him." Then remembering Helen and her appearance when she walked in, he turned to her. "Helen, when did you find this out? Before or after you slept with him?"

"James…" she said warningly.

"My dear, when I encouraged you back in London to have 'tryst' with someone to get your mind off of John, I had no intention for it to be with the prime suspect in a murder!"

She looked at him angrily. "What? Afraid I'm falling back on old habits?" she said, spinning around and sitting back down at her vanity, violently combing out her hair.

Watson sighed and looked at her. "Helen, that's not what I meant. You know that."

"Rah didn't do this, James," she said, combing her hair, steeling her composure. "I know what it is to be with a murderer. To_ intimately_ be with a murderer, and Rah is not that man."

James walked over to where she was sitting, knelt down, and took the brush out of her hands.

"How can you be sure, Helen?" he asked softly.

How could she be sure? She swallowed, thinking. Raghavendra, the deer, the peacock, the tiger, the butterfly…they all had golden eyes. Golden. Always golden. Suddenly Helen's face lit up and she grabbed Watson's shoulders.

"James," she said excitedly. "What is the one thing every eye witness saw?"

"A white tiger" he answered.

"Yes. And what color are a white tiger's eyes?"

James looked up at her, realization dawning across his face. "Blue. A white tiger has blue eyes."

"Rah's eyes are golden! Even when he changes, his eyes are always the same!"

James stood now, pacing the room, pipe in his hand, thinking.

"Your eyewitness, Dasari, He said he saw a white tiger, a demon ghost, a white ghost? Correct?"

"Yes," Helen nodded, "Those were his words exactly."

"Helen, we're not looking for an Indian man at all."

"No," she said, keeping steady pace with James's logic. "We're looking for an Englishman."


	5. Chapter 5: Caging the Tiger

**Chapter 5: Caging the Tiger**

It was the morning after Helen's visit to the temple. The sun had just risen over the Chamundi Hills when Magnus heard a light knock on her door. She opened it to find Rah standing there, hands behind his back, a shy grin on his face. She smiled back at him, her heart skipping a beat. It was amazing how good she felt. James was right; she was free for the first time in years.

She'd thought about it last night when she couldn't sleep. Rah, the temple, their lovemaking, the white tiger, and the realization that her new lover couldn't be the killer. She would always have a place in her heart for John. That she knew. But lying in bed in the early morning hours, the shadows of the evening passing, she understood now that she could also find joy in another. And that awareness, that she was able to love again, be again, left her feeling alive even amidst the death surrounding them. Life would go on, could go on, and she could too.

"Good morning," she said to him, returning his smile, her blue eyes sparkling. She felt like a school girl once more. And wasn't that what James had said he wanted for her? He seemed to be getting his way a great deal these days.

"I apologize for coming here so early, Helen, but I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking of you, and I wanted to bring you something. A small gift." He pulled a box from around his back and handed it to her.

"Rah, you didn't need to get me anything."

He shook his head. "It pleases me to do so." He reached for her hand and leaned down to kiss her when Helen pulled the door all the way open to reveal James Watson seated at her small writing desk, sheets of paper strewn about him, busily scribbling notes .

Rah shot her a curious look.

"James, look who's here," she announced loudly, grinning at Rah.

James popped his head up. "Rah, old boy! Just the man I wanted to see."

"He's been in here awhile," Helen said to Rah under her breath. "We had something of a breakthrough last night, and ever since, well, let's just say he's been fixated. I believe he awoke me at 4:30 this morning to continue our work."

"Rah, come here, come here. I have something to show you," Watson said, excited.

Rah obliged him.

"Do you see this mark here?" Watson tapped his finger on a piece of paper on the desk. "I saw it on Secretary Pashara's back the other evening after the murder of the guard. I drew it from memory, not the greatest artist, I admit" he said as an aside. "I've been trying my damndest to identify it ever since. Unfortunately, I didn't see the complete mark, but I'm fairly sure of the letters here and here." He pointed them out to Rah. "And if I were to complete the picture here..." he said, showing the spot in a lighter pencil mark, "I would say this tattoo may be the head of a tiger. What do you think?"

Rah looked at the drawing intently and then back up at James. "Are you sure this is what you saw, Dr. Watson?"

"James. Call me, James, Rah. We're practically kin now."

Helen shot James a pointed look, which he ignored. Rah stood, confused. "Ignore him, Rah. Does the mark look familiar to you?" she asked the young scholar.

"Very," Rah said, nodding. "You said you saw this where?"

"It was a tattoo, very small, on Secretary Pashara's upper back. I only noticed it because he was bending directly in front of me to check Helen's work."

"This is very strange," Rah continued a worried look on his face. "You're sure this is the mark that you saw and that you saw it on the Regent's secretary?"

Helen sat down on the couch opposite the desk. James looked at them both and nodded his head. "Yes, positively."

"What is it, Rah? What does it mean?" Magnus asked.

Rah picked up the drawing, walked over to Helen, and sat next to her on the couch. Quite close to her in fact, James noticed absently.

"This is the mark of Tipu Sultan, a former ruler of this region. He despised the British and was eventually defeated by them almost a hundred years ago. His mark was a tiger with the Hindi letters for the animal written above it. Sometimes he only used an abbreviation. Like this," he said, pointing to the two letters Watson had drawn above the animal's head. "If it were just a tiger, I might think nothing of it. But with the letters on top," he paused nodding his head. "This is surely his mark."

"The Tiger of Mysore," Watson said.

"Yes, that is what he was called," Rah responded.

"Tipu Sultan," Helen said. "He allied with the French to expel Britain from India, correct?"

"That is correct. Depending upon who tells the tale, he is either a hero or a tyrant. When Britain defeated him, they made Mysore a Princely State and reinstated Krishna's family, the Wadiyars, into power. They had been ousted by Tipu's father Hadir Ali. Tipu was a Muslim not a Hindu. Some say he was very tolerant of members of my faith. Others say he was not. Again, the truth lies with the teller," Rah told them.

"Why was he called the Tiger of Mysore?" Helen asked.

"The legend I know is that Tipu was hunting in the forest when he encountered a tiger and his gun jammed. He supposedly threw his gun to the ground, took out his knife, and slayed the tiger by hand," Watson said, acting out the motions for Helen and Rah. "He had the tiger stuffed and put in his palace and the tiger's blood put in a sacred jar. Correct?" He looked at Rah.

Rah nodded. "It is. It's also said that he kept live tigers in his palace and would feed disloyal subjects to them. His throne was made of tigers' heads, his palace walls striped to look like tiger stripes, and he used the emblem of a tiger on everything to denote his power and to intimidate his enemies. It was most effective."

Helen and James looked at one another.

"Strange coincidence, don't you think?" Helen asked James.

"Indeed" James responded.

"But why would the High Secretary for the Wadiyar family bare Tipu's mark? Tipu Sultan's followers would hate Krishna and the Wadiyars. And what would that have to do with the white tiger murdering the people of our kingdom?" Rah asked.

"More than that, what connection, if any does this have to our Englishman who is apparently our white tiger?" Watson mused.

Rah looked at Helen and James, confused. "The white tiger is an Englishman?"

Helen filled Rah in on James and her revelation the night before that the white tiger bore blue eyes, not golden, and was most probably an Englishman not an Indian.

"But who among the English would do this and why?" Rah asked.

"That, my boy, is the question. And how does Secretary Pashara and his connection to Tipu Sultan fit into this, because I believe it does. It most certainly does," Watson said emphatically.

"Stuart has blue eyes." Helen said softly. She'd been thinking it all night but was afraid to speak it out loud to James since the two men were such close friends.

Watson nodded. "I know. I thought of that as well. But Stuart is the one who sent for us. He even witnessed an attack…." James stopped. Helen could see his mind racing.

"Rah," Watson practically yelled, startling the royal tutor. "The night of the first palace attack, the one Sir Fraser witnessed, had it rained?"

Watson had lost Helen now, but she trusted his intellect enough to tell when he was on to something important.

Rah took a moment to think. "Yes, in fact there was a great storm that night. Part of the palace gardens had flooded."

Watson smiled. "I have a theory my friends," he said, nodding toward Helen and Rah. "But I need time to flesh it out and ensure that I am correct."

"What do you want us to do?" Helen asked, knowing that she needed to let James work now, and she and Rah had to give him the time to do it.

"I need you to keep an eye on Secretary Pashara and Sir Stuart Fraser. But don't let them know you are watching them, and don't let them out of your sight either. I'll be back as soon as I can." Watson grabbed his pipe and hat and left the room.

Rah looked at Helen.

"This wasn't the way I expected our morning to go," he said, smiling at her, taking her hand. Helen kissed him quickly on the lips. "Nor I, Rah, but the end is in sight. When James says he has a theory, what he means is he's solved the case. All he's doing now is tying up loose ends."

"So what do we do?" Rah asked.

"What he asked. Watch Fraser and Pashara, and see what happens next," Magnus said.

* * *

Rah followed Pashara. Helen followed Fraser. Doing so unobtrusively proved difficult, but far less so for Rah, the benefits of being a shape shifter. Nevertheless, neither one of them, Fraser nor the Regent's secretary, did anything the slightest bit unusual. Both men went about their daily tasks of running a kingdom, tutoring a would-be king, and maintaining a palace.

Until sunset.

It was then the two men met together in the secretary's quarters, alone.

Helen and Rah followed them after dinner. The secretary engaged Fraser in a quiet conversation inside the vestibule. Then Fraser followed Pashara across the courtyard to the secretary's office, dismissed his assistant, and closed the door. With the recent attack on palace grounds, guards were thick. There was no way Helen or Rah could approach Pashara's office unseen or unquestioned.

"We have to find out what's going on in there. Can you do it?" Helen asked Rah. He nodded. Magnus watched him close his eyes, shimmer, and disappear into a golden puddle of light. His clothes fell to the ground, a housefly now buzzing atop them. Helen nodded to him. "Be careful, please." He buzzed around her head and was gone.

Magnus hid his clothes behind an alcove and waited for him outside, the sky around her darkening. A few minutes passed, and then a few more. With each passing moment Helen grew more and more apprehensive. She pretended to be sitting and reading, but with the sky dimming, the guards looked at her oddly. "Damnit," she cursed silently. She picked up her book, walked across the patio to Pashara's office, and knocked on the door.

A moment later, Sir Fraser opened the door, smiling at her. "Helen! What a pleasant surprise. Do come in. Secretary Pashara and I were just speaking of your investigation. Were you able to learn anything from the eyewitnesses?"

Magnus stepped into Pashara's office. The secretary sat quietly in a chair drinking coffee. Another cup sat empty opposite him, presumably Fraser's. She searched the room for Rah, but saw nothing. Everything appeared eerily normal.

"That's why I'm here actually," Magnus lied quickly. "We interviewed the witnesses but they were only able to tell us that they saw a white tiger, nothing more. I know you promised to keep the Regent abreast of the situation, so I thought you would like to know. I'm sorry, Stuart, we seemed to have reached a dead end."

"No surprise there. You should go. We will track and kill this beast ourselves. We have no need for your help," Pashara said angrily.

Stuart turned to the secretary. "Oh come now, Viswanath, no need to be rude. The Maharaja sent for Helen and James on my recommendation, and they have done their best. These beastly crimes have vexed us all."

Pashara rolled his eyes. Stuart took Helen by the elbow and gently led her to the door. "I apologize for his behavior. He's upset, like all of us. I sincerely appreciate your efforts."

"Of course, Stuart," Helen replied. Fraser seemed so normal, no hint of deception in his voice at all. What in bloody Hell was happening here?

"I have to finish my conversation with Mr. Pashara, but if you and James are available, I'd like to meet with you this evening to discuss our next steps?"

"Certainly," Helen said. "That would be fine."

"Thank you," Stuart smiled, his blue eyes perfectly calm. "I should be round in an hour."

"We'll meet you in the sitting room next to our chambers."

"Until then, Helen."

"Until then"

The door closed.

"Helen." The voice startled her. Rah emerged, clothed, from a darkened corner, his hand on the small of her back. "Follow me," he said quietly.

"Rah, what did you…."

"Shh," he whispered. "Not here."

He hurried Helen back to her chamber and closed the door.

"Did you get in?" Helen asked.

"Yes, I did."

"And?" Helen said, anxious to hear what had transpired between Fraser and Pashara.

Just then Watson burst through her door, arms full of papers. He took his foot and pulled the door shut. Still juggling the papers, he locked it.

"What did you find out?" Watson asked breathlessly.

"Knocking. It's something gentlemen do, James." Helen snipped.

"No time, Helen. I found the information I needed, and I need to know what you saw tonight. I saw the two of you crossing the courtyard as I was returning. I assume you were coming from Pashara's office?"

"Yes," she replied, letting the matter of James' manners drop for the time being. "Fraser and Secretary Pashara adjourned there after dinner. Rah was able to get in. He was just about to tell me what he learned."

Watson dumped his pile of papers on the desk and turned to Rah with his hands on his hips.

"Well old boy? Out with it!"

Rah took a deep breath. "Sir Fraser and Pashara were drinking coffee, conversing about court matters, nothing unusual. When suddenly Fraser turned deathly white, as though he were dead, but his eyes were opened."

"When did this occur?" Helen asked. "Before or after he drank the coffee?" She remembered seeing Fraser's empty cup in the room.

Rah thought. "After."

"Probably drugged," Helen said.

"I agree," Watson interjected. "What happened next?" James prodded

"Pashara went to a cabinet behind his desk and unlocked it. He wore the key around his neck. Then he took out some kind of jar with a red liquid, he dipped a vile into it then…"

A crashing noise interrupted Rah's story. It came from the floor above them. An animal roared. A boy screamed.

"Krishna!" Rah yelled. In a flash he turned into an eagle, his clothes falling to the floor, and flew out Helen's open window.

"Rah, wait!" Helen yelled after him.

"No time, Helen. Get your gun!"

Helen ran to her side table and grabbed her pistol. Watson threw open the door and raced down the hallway to the stairs leading up to the Maharaja's chambers, Helen right on his heels. Guards stormed the stairs behind them. When they reached Krishna's door, it was locked. The guards pounded at the door to open it. One of them ordered the men to bring a battering ram. Inside they could hear a boy and a woman screaming, items crashing to the floor amidst deafening roars.

"This is taking too long! He'll be dead before we get in!" Helen shouted to James.

James nodded. "This way," he said, taking Helen's arm and pulling her around the corner to the back side of the Maharaja's room. James began knocking along the wall.

"What in God's name are you doing?" she shouted the screaming growing louder. As long as the boy was still screaming, he was still alive, she thought vaguely.

James kept tapping on the wall, stopped, and put his hand on an indention in the mural. "This," he said turning to her. "Helen, get your gun ready." She held it two-handed in front of her. "Now," Watson said, and he pressed his hand into the indention. Something clicked, and the wall spun open revealing the Maharaja's bed chambers. The young boy was in his bed, his mother, the Regent's, arms wrapped tightly around him. They were pressed against the back of the boy's headboard, their eyes wide with fear. In front of them at the foot of the bed were two tigers. One white, one orange. The orange tiger stood at the edge of the bed, blocking the way between the boy and the snarling white tiger. The two animals tore at each other, their teeth and claws clashing. The Maharani looked up and saw Helen's gun. "Shoot them!" she cried. "Shoot them!" Krishna clung to his mother, crying.

Helen aimed her pistol at the white tiger, drawing back the trigger, when James laid a hand on her gun to stop her.

"No, Helen, don't! It's Fraser! He doesn't know what he's doing!"

Helen looked at Watson and turned back to the battle raging in front of her. The orange tiger was Rah, his golden eyes gleaming with anger, fighting to protect his friend, the boy king. His left front shoulder was dripping with blood.

"I have to do something, James, or they'll die!" She shouted. Helen mentally calculated where to fire the shot to stop the attack but not kill, aimed, and hoped she'd hit her mark.

The bullet ripped through the white tiger's flesh, sending it crashing to the ground with a scream. Almost instantly the tiger disappeared and the naked body of Sir Stuart Fraser lay in its place, blood dripping from his side. The orange tiger looked down at Fraser, turned, and jumped through the window, blood dripping behind him.

"Get towels, James, anything to stop the bleeding." James ripped the blankets from the Maharaja's bed and wrapped them around his unconscious friend.

Just then the guards burst through Krishna's door, Secretary Pashara leading the way.

"Maharaja! Maharani!" he ran to them, the two still shivering on the bed. "You are alive! Thank the gods!"

He turned and looked on the floor at Fraser.

"So it was an Englishman, Sir Fraser, who was the demon tiger!" he said pointing at the blood soaked body on the floor. "He tried to kill you both!"

"Not without help," Watson said angrily, rising up to face him, his hands soaked with Fraser's blood. He pointed to Pashara. "You controlled him! With the blood of the tiger that Tipu Sultan slayed, you turned him into this," he said, pointing at Fraser. "Every night you met with him to discuss court issues. And every night you offered him coffee, drugged coffee. And after you drugged him, you fed him the blood of Tipu Sultan's tiger, a Were Tiger, from the Sulta's sacred jar. You used the blood and hypnosis to control him, to kill for you. And you triggered each kill with that!" he said, pointing to Pashara's pocket.

Pashara covered his tunic pocket with his hands.

"What do you have, Vishwanath?" the Maharani asked.

Pashara hesitated, and then pulled out a flute. "It is nothing but a flute, Maharani, a child's toy."

"An instrument you used to trigger Sir Fraser to kill!" Watson shouted at him. He turned to the Maharani and her son. "Pashara is not who he seems, Your Highnesses. He's a traitor, a follower of Tipu Sultan who overthrew your family a hundred years ago. And it was his plan, through Fraser, to overthrow your family again and the British rule. If we had not intervened, if the orange tiger had not protected you," he said, looking down at Helen who was working fervently to save Fraser's life, "You would be dead. That was his plan. And he," he said, pointing to Pashara, "would be the new king of Mysore."

Pashara drew a knife from under his sash and ran toward Watson.

"Guards!" Maharani yelled.

The guards grabbed Pashara and wrestled the knife from his hand and held him.

"Do you have proof of this Dr. Watson?" Maharani asked, still clinging tightly to her young son.

"I do Your Highness. I have documents that prove Secretary Pashara is Hyder Ali III, great, great nephew of Tipu Sultan. He hid his identify from you and worked his way into your court so that he could seek vengeance for his family."

"This is ridiculous!" Pashara shouted, struggling against the guards. "Documents can be forged. If the English conspired against you to kill you, Maharani, who is to say they do not conspire now with false documents to proclaim their innocence and accuse me falsely!"

"Remove his tunic," Watson said coolly.

The Maharani looked at Watson and then at Pashara and nodded to the guards. "Do as he says."

Pashara struggled against them, but they pulled the tunic off his head and brought him to the Maharani.

"Turn him around," Watson told them.

The guards did as James said. The Maharani stroked her son's hair, then got up from the bed, and approached Pashara. She looked at the tattoo on his back. A tiger's head with the Hindi abbreviation for tiger written above it. Her eyes narrowed.

"Turn him back around," she ordered angrily. The guards did.

"You bear the mark of Tipu Sultan, killer of my husband's family and traitor to mine. You tried to kill my son tonight. For this, you will die." She spat at him, and returned to her boy, holding him tightly.

"Curse you and the Wadiyar family! You are nothing but English whores!" Pashara shouted.

"Take him away," the Maharani ordered.

"James," Helen said, "If we're to save Stuart I need to operate now. The bullet went through cleanly, but I can't stop the bleeding. There's little time."

The Maharani looked at Helen and nodded. "Take Sir Fraser to the infirmary. Give Dr. Magnus whatever supplies she needs."

"Thank you," Helen said.

The guards picked up Fraser. Helen made her way to follow them when Rah entered the room and ran to Krishna. Helen breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of him.

"Krishna, my friend, are you all right? Were you injured? Were you hurt?" He pulled him into an embrace.

The young Maharaja hugged him back. "No Rah. Dr. Magnus, Dr. Watson, and the orange tiger protected me. They saved my life," he said, his brown eyes wide.

Rah held him by the shoulders to look at him, to make sure he was unscathed, and smiled. "I'm glad, Your Highness. Very glad." And he pulled him into an embrace once more.

"What of the orange tiger?" the Maharani asked. "Krishna is right. It emerged through the window and stopped the white tiger's attack, standing between us and him as though it were protecting us."

Helen looked at Rah, still holding his young charge close. "It_ was_ protecting you, Your Highness. Of that I'm sure. Perhaps it was a gift from Vishnu? You should consider you and your son truly blessed."

Rah looked up at Helen, his golden eyes glistening, mouthing the words, _"Thank you,"_ as he held his young friend close.


	6. Chapter 6: Sanctuaries

**Chapter 6: Sanctuaries**

"One thing I still don't understand, James," Helen said standing behind her dressing screen changing her clothes. Fraser's operation that evening had been a success. He would live. But whether he would psychologically recover from the trauma of what had happened was another matter.

"How did you conclude Fraser was the white tiger? You said yourself he summoned us here. He was one of only two eyewitnesses to the attacks?" Helen asked.

Watson smiled, pipe in his hand. "That threw me as well until I realized that what Stuart did, he did blindly. He wasn't conscious of his actions. He was drugged, hypnotized, and fed the blood of a Were Tiger. And we know how strong a source blood can be."

Helen shivered. "Yes, yes we do."

"Considering he was not fully conscious of his actions but may have been subconsciously trying to reveal himself, I began to think on what he told me. Stuart said he saw the tiger attack from his room; saw the tiger's eyes, human eyes, from his window."

"And?"

"And that was impossible. There was no moon, no light that night to see anything from that distance, except perhaps the vague form of an animal."

"So Stuart would have had to have been much closer to see the tiger, let alone the tiger's eyes," Helen said.

"Yes, and given that it was storming that night, violently raining, there was no way he could have seen anything unless…"

"Unless he saw his own reflection, his own eyes looking back at him, in the flooding left by the rain. Amazing." Helen concluded.

"Precisely," Watson smiled. "You're getting very good at this, you know."

She smiled back. "Not quite as good as you, Sherlock, but I have my moments."

James laughed.

A knock on the door distracted them. James went to open it. She saw him smile and shake a hand. "Good to see you, old boy," He said, putting his pipe back in his mouth.

Rah walked in, holding his bandaged shoulder.

"Rah!" Helen exclaimed and came hurriedly around her dressing curtain to meet him. She threw her arms around him, and he hugged her back tightly. She pulled back and put her hands on either side of his face. "I was worried about you. How badly are you injured? There could be an infection, I should look at it." She started to lift up his tunic and examine his shoulder.

"I'm fine, Helen," he said, taking her hands in his hands. "It's only a scratch. I promise."

She looked up at him his golden eyes shining. Then she leaned into him and kissed him, a kiss that left Watson feeling awkwardly out of place.

"Well…"James coughed. "Given that the Maharaja and his mother would like an audience with us tomorrow morning, I think I shall be going to bed now. I'd advise you two not to… stay up too late."

"Oh we'll go to bed soon, James," Helen said, not taking her eyes from Rah's. "I promise you that."

Watson coughed violently. "Well…yes…indeed. I think on that note I shall be going. Good night you two. Sweet dreams." He left the room.

Rah laughed. "I think you chased him away."

"Purposefully. I dearly love James, but sometimes he hasn't a clue." She smiled.

Rah walked over to her vanity. On it still sat the box, the present he had brought her earlier that morning.

"You didn't have a chance to open it before. Will you do me the honor of opening it now?"

Helen grinned at him. "I would love to." She took the box and sat down on the edge of the bed. Rah joined her. She removed the lid, lifted the tissue that he'd placed inside, and gasped.

"Oh, Rah! Is this what I think it is?"

He nodded. "A silk sari. Handmade by my own sister. She is one of the finest sari makers in all of Mysore."

Helen lifted it out of the box.

It was gorgeous. Robin-egg blue with intricate designs depicting what looked like scenes from Hindu mythology. "What are these pictures?" Helen asked, pointing out the embroidered scenes.

"It is the tale of the Demon of Mysore, Mahishasura and the Goddess Chamundi. I didn't want you to forget us," he said quietly.

She looked up at him and took his chin in her hand. "I will never forget you, Rah. I can't begin to thank you for what you've done for me."

"And you for me, Helen Magnus," he said. "I will miss you very deeply when you go," he said softly.

Helen worked to hold back tears. "And I will miss you…very deeply. But I have the feeling we will see each other again, maybe sooner than we think."

He looked at her, puzzled.

"Trust me," she said, and kissed him gently on the mouth. "Now, are you going to show me how to put this on?" she said flirtatiously.

He smiled. "I will be happy to show you how a sari is properly worn…and removed. You will find it much less complicated than English clothes" he said, meeting her flirtation dead on.

"Really? Then teach me Maharaja Krishna's Master Tutor," she said, pulling him down on the bed with her. "I'm eager to learn."

* * *

Magnus and Watson stood in front of Maharaja Krishna and his mother, the Maharani and Regent, in the throne room of the palace early the next morning. The young boy sat on a golden chair three times his size embedded with red rubies and green emeralds. He wore his red turban laced with pearls and silk. His mother, the Maharani, stood next to him clad in a beautiful silk sari chestnut red with golden emblems of the Wadiyar family threaded upon it. The young king nodded for them to approach.

"Dr. Magnus, Dr. Watson," he said acknowledging them. "My mother, the Regent, and I want to thank you for saving our lives and my kingdom from our enemy."

"You are most welcome, Your Highnesses," Helen said, bowing.

Krishna turned to his mother and she nodded. He turned back to Helen and James. "We would like to give you a gift to thank you for what you have done. But given the magnitude of the service you have performed for us, we are lost as to what to give you that would properly show our gratitude."

"A gift is not necessary, Your Majesty..." Watson started.

"However," Helen interjected, cutting James off. "I have a thought."

James looked at her, surprised.

"Yes, Dr. Magnus?" the young king asked.

"Sir Fraser needs assistance. Help to deal with what happened to him and what he has become. We could take him back to England with us, to our Sanctuary in London, but I was thinking there might be something you could do for him here, that you could do for many creatures here."

"What would that be?" the boy asked, edging forward.

"Your kingdom and India is singularly unique in all the world," she said, paraphrasing the same words Sir Fraser had spoken to her upon their arrival. "What if you were to build a Sanctuary here in India? Become its benefactor?"

Krishna smiled. "A Sanctuary…. Like the one you have built in London? To study and protect the creatures of my kingdom, the kingdoms of all of India?"

"Yes, exactly. What do you think of the idea?"

Krishna looked at his mother, the excitement evident on his face. The Regent smiled at him.

"I think it is a brilliant idea, Dr. Magnus. But who should run my Sanctuary?" he asked.

Helen smiled. "I have an ideal candidate for you, Maharaja." She turned and looked at Raghavendra who stood next to the king. "His Highness's tutor, Raghavendra, is one of the kindest, most intelligent people I have met. I can think of no one better to run your Sanctuary than him. I only ask that it remain under my, and Dr. Watson's, overall supervision."

Rah looked at Helen and shook his head, smiling, his golden eyes gleaming with amusement.

The Maharaja leaned over and whispered to his mother. She nodded. He smiled brightly and turned back to Magnus.

"It is done. There shall be a Sanctuary in India," the boy king said.

* * *

"A Sanctuary in India…." Watson said, thinking out loud. Helen and Rah had said their goodbyes, for now, and she and James were headed for Calcutta and a two week journey that would take them through the Suez Canal and back to London.

"Yes," she turned to him as they bumped along the rough Indian road in the Maharaja's coach. "Just think of it, James. This may be the start of Sanctuaries around the world. One in every country, perhaps. It makes sense, doesn't it?" she asked her voice full of excitement. "No telling what our work will become."

He nodded, her mood contagious, and kissed her on the cheek. "It does make sense, my dear," James agreed. "You know, you consistently amaze me Helen Magnus."

She tilted her head. "I do?"

"You do." he said.

"Well, it's rather elementary, my dear Watson," she replied, grinning.

James frowned. "I hate it when you say things like that."

Helen winked at him. "I know."

END


End file.
